drowning in the fog of you
by riouu
Summary: Ishimaru, little things, and the conversation only he heard in the Night Time. Written for a good friend. (Hints of Ishimondo and spoilers to those who haven't read chapter 2.)


**Title:** drowning in the fog of you  
**Author:** riou  
**Length:** 1278 words.  
**Characters:** Ishimaru Kiyotaka & Oowada Mondo (small hints of Ishimondo?)  
**Warnings:** Spoilers, heartbreaking stuff.  
**Summary:** Ishimaru, little things, and the conversation only he heard in the Night Time.  
**Written:** 16th April 2013.

**Foreword:**  
For Maria, who got me into Ishimondo, threw me headlong into this series, and in doing so knowingly shattered my tiny little heart into shards I fear are irreparable. Here, I return the favour. ;)  
and erm. I'm sorry.

* * *

**drowning in the fog of you;**

"There is _one thing_ I am sure of."

Ishimaru is with Oowada and it is Night Time. The clock reads a couple of strokes past eleven and their little world inside the academy is silent, but Ishimaru supposes there could be a fight in progress just outside his door and he would not know, would not hear, and thus would not be able to intervene even if a murder happened to take place there and then. Only when the presumed morning arrived and he stepped into a bloodstained corridor would his blissful ignorance shatter like glass hurled at a wall, as he's hit by the terrible reality and gut-clenching awareness that, as he slept, one of his comrades died in a place separated from him by a few feet of concrete. He exhales a heavy sigh and his shoulders slump with the kind of exhaustion that comes with pondering over these soul-tearing scenarios - even now, with cold fingers and a numb heart, it hurts to think about further deaths. Falling to lie back on the bed, limp legs hanging over the edge, Ishimaru listens to himself breathe, closes his eyes, and feels the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

"It's that we'll find a way out," he tells his best friend and brother in a voice that is solid enough not to merely be falsely reassuring. "So long as we persevere! We mustn't lose our spirit even in the face of adversity and horror."

Oowada maybe smiles then, but Ishimaru does not know for sure, because the other boy is not currently in his field of vision. Above, the ceiling looms closer than ever and, not for the first time in his life, Ishimaru feels confined and claustrophobic. He finds himself wishing he could sprout wings, soar up, up, through the various barriers of plaster and wood and iron and brick, all the way to the roof of this wretched place and beyond, into morning sunrise. And he would take Oowada as he flew, hooking him under the arms to lift the other boy all the way to the top, where the first rays of the new day could warm them in ways artificial lighting cannot. Ishimaru has never thought of himself as a particularly strong person physically but he's certain that, if such a thing were possible, he could carry him to freedom. He could carry Oowada.

"You want to return to your gang, don't you, Oowada-kun...?"

"_My gang_..."

He listens to the echo as Oowada's deep voice, surprisingly pleasant, resounds off the soundproof walls, followed by the dull ring of a reverberating, nostalgic laugh and the rustle of clothing when his posture shifts; all little sounds but all so important, and made all the more pronounced in this nightmarish building they are trapped in. Each is a sign of life, of being, bits and pieces that make up Oowada from his outside in. They are things Ishimaru has learned to love, treasure, and keep close. It's all locked away somewhere deep inside of him, filed carefully, navigating his veins and arteries with each breath he takes. Long, slow inhalations, taking the time to

exist (live, his body tells him, but his heart isn't in it),

and feel,

and remember,

and all the while whispering his name and holding it on his tongue, "Oowada-kun..."

These traces of Oowada will always remain, even if he...

A vigorous shake of the head banishes those unspeakable thoughts back to the dustier corners of Ishimaru's mind, before they can entrap him once more. Right here, right now, there is a moment and he's allowed himself a lighter mood, and he wants with everything he has, every fibre of his being, for it to last as long as it can. His eyelids are leaden with weariness but he tries to prolong these waking seconds, because sleep is not longer a place he can escape to easily and Ishimaru fears what lurks on the cresting waves of slumber. He fears spinning endlessly, tossing in bed with wordless cries leaving his throat scorched red raw, unable to reach help or be reached in turn.

Rolling onto his side, he catches a glimpse of gold buttons reflecting the light and a high, stiff collar. It is a familiar sight, one that has his lips twitching up in a small smile of recognition.

"'_Course I want to see everyone again,_" declares the biker, "_I mean, I know you're all about rules and stuff so you might not understand my gang's appeal, but even we have our own kinda laws and they're a great bunch of guys, I swear! I've been riding with 'em for so many years and it's...maddening without them._"

"No," Ishimaru murmurs, staring across the room at the far wall. He ignores the garish, clashing colour scheme, the sparse decoration, the blocked windows and the security camera, and focuses on the necessary: his thoughts, the blood rushing to the tune of his softly beating heart, and Oowada. "I...understand wanting the company of friends."

_You're too uptight, Kiyotaka-kun,_ they always said. _You're a teachers' pet so we don't want to play with you. You don't know fun and you always ruin our games. _And so, for the majority of his school life, Ishimaru's only company was the lingering presence of humans who had left his immediate area, leaving empty spaces and the fading pitter-patter of footsteps as they fled structure, conformity, and upstanding behaviour, to be reckless and dangerous together. He came to terms with it. Slowly, he accepted and understood that some things must be sacrificed in order to pursue his own goals, and he focused on his studies and on being the Model Student - but he always quietly resented the cut-off groups of friends that surrounded him in class and yet wanted nothing to do with him.

Now, the miraculous has occured. Ishimaru understands the meaning of the word '_miracle_', because here, in this school of hope-turned-despair, in the midst of paranoia running riot, murder, suspicion and lies wrapped up in a complex and frightening game of life and death, is where Ishimaru Kiyotaka found his first best friend.

And he understands '_cruelty_' all the more strongly. It eats away at him until he is little more than a husk, preoccupied and surviving on memories, what-ifs, visions of all the possibilities that never were and never will be...things that he might have, in the midst of experiencing, taken the time to appreciate. Those little snippets of life, like the scent of Oowada's skin, and the warmth of his body against Ishimaru's chest as he wrapped his arms round the other boy's middle, clinging to him from the back of a motorbike. The fall of his hair and how it reaches his shoulders when it isn't styled, and his slightly lopsided, but altogether strangely charming (and infectious, and daring, and sometimes mischievous) smile. The tang of his sweat, the images reflected in his eyes, the shadows cast by lights overhead. The shininess of his coat buttons - a shine only surpassed by the carefully-polished buttons on Ishimaru's uniform, belonging to a coat that was beloved and treated with the respect deserving of a high-ranking gang member, and which now lies alongside him, as much a shell as he.

"_Maybe I'll take you out on the bike some time, when we get out. I like ya, man. Just remember that._"

It is two days after Oowada Mondo's execution and Ishimaru is still haunted by everything Oowada told him on the night before he killed. His next breath catches on a sob as he curls inwards, around that coat, wishing there were the bulk of a torso inside it and a chest rising and falling like his own, that he could rest his head on and find solace within. But there is one thing Ishimaru is sure of, and it's that he is utterly alone.

* * *

**end. **

* * *

It's messy and incoherent. I'm sleepy. May be slightly inaccurate to canon but /flips over. don't look at me. also, apologies for any mischaracterisation.

thanks for reading and once again, I'm sorry—

riou.


End file.
